Neither pair of riders had any presence. They were uncertain, nervous and looking to each other to make the first move. The Raven made it for them.
‘Better call your leader down here,’ said The Unknown. ‘You’ve got a problem.’
The Raven had weapons sheathed but both Erienne and Denser were ready with shield spells should the need arise. In front of them, a heavy-set man with both hands on the pommel of his saddle spoke.
‘He’ll be along presently, I have no doubt. Now, what is this problem we have?’
‘You all need to hear what we have to say. All seven,’ said The Unknown.
Hirad smiled unpleasantly. ‘Yeah, six men and an elf. You’re a little behind the times.’
‘Listen, you don’t need to test yourselves against us,’ said the heavy-set man, frowning in Hirad’s direction. ‘It isn’t worth your while and we have no wish to spill your blood.’
‘Well, that’s comforting,’ muttered Denser.
The second pair of riders rode around to the front of the standoff. Hirad could hear more hoof beats coming up the village. To his left, a door opened and a man ran across the street, not pausing to knock on the door of the house opposite before barging in.
‘Which one are you, then?’ asked Hirad of the heavy-set man.
‘I am Hirad Coldheart,’ he said without hesitation.
‘I’d heard he was better-looking,’ replied Hirad, no humour in his voice.
‘Stop it, now,’ said The Unknown, turning to him.
The remaining impostors rode up along the street, doors opening with regularity behind them now. The archer unslung his bow as soon as he reined in, the leader trotting calmly to the front of the group.
Looking at him again, Hirad could see immediately who he had modelled himself upon. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already noticed, the likeness was that obvious. He supposed he just hadn’t been looking. Shaven-headed, broad-shouldered and strong-faced. The two-handed blade on his back was something else that should have pricked his memories.
‘Don’t fancy yours much, either,’ he said.
The Unknown glared at him.
‘What is it I can do for you?’ asked his double in a passable impersonation.
‘Several things,’ said The Unknown. He glanced around him, looked past the impostors and along the street. ‘Seems we’ve drawn quite a crowd. Good. Here begins the lesson.’
‘Get back to the farmhouse,’ said the leader.
‘Be quiet,’ said The Unknown. ‘And listen. It might just save you.’
The sounds of swords being pulled from scabbards echoed across the instant’s silence. The Raven followed suit instantly, forming up into their trademark chevron.
‘Shield up,’ said Denser and Erienne together.
‘I suggest you lower those weapons,’ said the bandit leader, the only man among them whose sword was not drawn. ‘You will prove nothing by taking us on.’
‘On the contrary,’ said The Unknown. ‘We will prove what we must.’
‘Which is what? That you can beat The Raven?’
‘No, my apparently blind double. That we are The Raven.’
A ripple ran around the villagers close enough to hear and spread quickly to those who could not. The crowd, now more than forty, bunched and moved forward a pace. But the men, women and children still kept a respectful distance.
Hirad watched the impostors stare at them, trying to gauge if The Unknown could be telling the truth.
‘Look hard,’ growled Hirad. ‘Believe.’
The leader snorted, straightened in his saddle. ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘Just six. One a woman. No elf. And you,’ he pointed at The Unknown Warrior. ‘A little old aren’t you? And if you had heard the stories, you would have a two-handed blade. A pale imitation. It’s been fun. Now it’s time you left before we run you down.’
‘But that’s the trouble with stories, isn’t it?’ said The Unknown, his face a mask, while Hirad felt his own burning with renewed anger. ‘They don’t take account of the passage of time. We have not fought in line for six years and in the troubles that have followed, even we have lost friends.’
‘There is no elf because Ilkar is dead,’ said Hirad, staring down the elven mage. ‘No one lives on his name. No one.’
‘All right, Hirad,’ said The Unknown. ‘So you see the problem we have. We cannot let you simply walk away. You have taken our name and used it for profit. And that is not the worst of it. You have betrayed what The Raven stand for and believe in. We were mercenaries, not parasites.’
‘And you expect these people to believe that you, not we, are The Raven?’
‘I don’t much care who they think we are,’ said The Unknown. ‘All they need to know is that you are not The Raven.’
His voice was pitched to carry to the villagers. Hirad heard the mutterings of conversation. The impostors’ heads all turned, their anxiety rising.
‘You surely don’t believe them, do you?’ demanded the leader.
Unexpectedly, Ferran stepped from the small crowd.
‘We pay you to keep our village free of undesirables,’ he said. ‘If they are such, do your jobs. Get rid of them.’
His words were greeted with assent from those around him.
Hirad grinned. ‘Yeah, Hirad,’ he said. ‘Take me on. Run me out of the village.’ He spat on the ground in front of him, enjoying the tension that grew in the space between them.
‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,’ said The Unknown. ‘You’re going to give back every coin you have taken from this village. You’ll also leave them your horses because you are walking away from here. Your return will be to your graves.’
‘Not a chance,’ said the leader, tone dismissive but fear edging into his expression. He was eyeing The Unknown ever more closely, the doubt eating at him.
‘Your alternative,’ said The Unknown, ‘is not to leave here at all. Mind you, since you’re The Raven, that threat won’t impress you much, will it?’
Hirad saw the band wavering. He knew why. In front of them was unshakeable belief born of fifteen years of winning. The Raven, standing quite still, did not and would not flinch. Their adversaries, even with the advantage of being mounted, were losing the battle of wills. It was what separated The Raven from everybody else. Always had.
‘There is only one Raven, and you aren’t it,’ said Hirad.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Unknown’s blade struck the ground in front of him.
‘No time to debate,’ he said. ‘Get off your horses now.’
‘Boss?’
There it was, the first vocal crack in the façade. The impostors’ leader scowled. Then he swallowed and looked back at The Unknown, hesitant.
‘You’re out of time,’ said The Unknown. ‘Dismount.’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘Go,’ snapped the leader.
He kicked the flanks of his horse. Startled, the animal sprang forward. The Unknown reacted instantly, diving forward and left. Hirad mirrored him right, both men rolling to their haunches. The Unknown was confronted by a wall of horseflesh on the move. Two others had followed their boss and were right on top of Thraun and Darrick. Hirad surged to his feet and grabbed at the arm of the mounted man in front of him. He pulled hard.
‘Mage casting,’ warned Darrick.
‘Shield down,’ said Denser. And in the next instant, ‘Got him.’
Men tugged hard on reins, horses reared and whinnied, dust was kicked into the air. Swords flashed in the dying light. Thraun roared. Metal clashed. A single arrow flew. There was a shout of pain.
Hirad kept on pulling, unsaddling the man. His horse turned sharply, its head butting Hirad, sending him stumbling. The man scrambled to his feet to face his smiling double.